


my arms will hold you, keep you safe and warm

by emavee



Series: dc, let bruce be a good dad you cowards [8]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Dick Grayson is Batman, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick Grayson is Robin, Fluff, Gen, Platonic Hand Holding, Time Skips, but a lot of it is baby robin dick :), some angst but it's pretty mild
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:20:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28156704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emavee/pseuds/emavee
Summary: Five times Dick held Bruce's hand, and one time Bruce held his.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne
Series: dc, let bruce be a good dad you cowards [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1825744
Comments: 24
Kudos: 227





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not me posting back-to-back good dad bruce and baby dickie five + ones.... 
> 
> no regrets :)

For the first time in probably fifteen years, Bruce feels like he might not have really thought something through. He’s always prided himself on his caution and scrupulousness—it’s what has kept him alive this long and what makes him such a formidable enemy. 

But in this one instance, there was no room for hesitation, not with so much at stake.

He couldn’t leave that grieving child to waste away in Gotham’s juvenile detention center, especially not when he’d done nothing wrong. And when it became apparently clear that no one else was going to help him, well… Bruce just couldn’t sit by and do nothing any longer. He couldn’t just leave Dick to suffer while he deliberated himself into some sort of agonizing stalemate. It wasn’t fair to the boy. To a nine year old boy whose whole world had just come crumbling down with a few snapped wires.

But now, as he actually stands outside the detention center waiting, Bruce has to wonder if he’s getting in over his head. He’s not having second thoughts, not really—it’s too late to turn back anyhow, what with Dick literally in his line of sight—but he is starting to worry, unease settling in his gut and something overwhelming buzzing in his ears. 

Dick is so small. Bruce had known that, had seen it when he’d wrapped his jacket around sobbing and shaking shoulders that night at the circus. He somehow looks no less fragile now, being led out of the building still in his jumpsuit, tiny hands clutching with white knuckles at the trash bag in his arms, which likely contains every last one of his material possessions, or at least the little he was able to take with him from the circus. His face is pale and exhausted, cheeks sunken and eyes shiny and distant. He doesn’t appear to be physically injured, but that does nothing to ease the worry in Bruce’s chest. It’s clear that he has still been badly hurt here.

Watery and red-rimmed blue eyes peer up at Bruce, wide and wary. Distrustful. And why should he be anything even resembling trusting of Bruce when every adult who was supposed to take care of him has done the exact opposite? He has no reason to trust Bruce; they have only met twice now, the first when Bruce had brushed away his tears on his cheeks and wiped the blood from his hands, only to let a social worker haul him away and dump him behind barbed wire and cinderblock walls. The second was not much better, when Bruce spoke with him briefly in the detention center, asking how the boy would feel about coming to live with him, just to turn around and leave him there with no guarantee that he was ever coming back. It breaks Bruce’s heart and makes his fist clench in rage, sadness and anger squeezing his chest in equal measure. 

No, he is not doing the wrong thing, getting Dick out of this place, but that does not change the fact that it shouldn’t have come to this. It shouldn’t be Bruce who is the only one left fighting for this boy. It shouldn’t be Bruce, with his dangerous nightlife and absolutely no experience with childrearing and exactly twenty-six years to his name, who is the only one trying to care for this child. Foster families should be lining up to take him in, or better yet, his family should still be alive.

But because the world is cruel and Gotham even more so, he is stuck with Bruce, who has no idea what he’s doing here but damn it, it  _ has _ to be better than the detention center. And he already knows that he would go to the ends of the earth for Dick Grayson—he just prays that that’s enough to not completely ruin this child.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says, tries to keep any sign of his nerves out of his voice, tries to make his smile as gentle and reassuring as possible.

“Hi, Mr. Wayne,” Dick whispers, worrying slightly at his lip. His gaze doesn’t quite meet Bruce’s eyes. Bruce has told him multiple times that it’s fine to call him Bruce, but now certainly isn’t the time to be nitpicking. Dick looks incredibly shaken, almost as though he is still in shock, even after two and half weeks. There is plenty of time yet for Bruce to remind him gently that he doesn’t have to call him Mr. Wayne, when he’s more comfortable with everything.

“You ready to get out of here?” Bruce asks.

Dick nods, casting a sideways glance at the guard that escorted him out. He seems slightly more relaxed when it becomes clear that no one is going to stop him from leaving. This is really happening.

Bruce gestures towards the bag in Dick’s arms. “Want me to carry that for you?” 

Although a single trash bag is incredibly meager in terms of material possessions, it still looks massive in Dick’s arms, far too cumbersome for the boy to carry alone without some amount of difficulty. Perhaps that only serves to highlight how small and young Dick really is.

Dick shakes his head, grip tightening on the bag. “I got it.”

Bruce opens his mouth to argue, to insist that it’s no trouble for Bruce to carry it, but then closes it with a nod. Again, why should Dick entrust his only belongings to a man he’s met twice? This is all he has left. When Bruce really thinks about it, it’s not shocking in the least that Dick would be hesitant to part with his things. He’s likely only just now gotten them back; the detention center wouldn’t have let him keep them, that much is for sure.

“Alright. I’m parked just over here, and my… friend Alfred has prepared a special dinner for tonight, just for you. It should be ready by the time we get home.”

“Okay. Thank you, Mr. Wayne.”

“Of course, Dick.” His grin feels a lot more genuine when he spies the barest hint of a smile pulling at the corners of Dick’s mouth.

They walk in silence towards the car, and Bruce can’t quite tell if it’s awkward or not. He can’t really feel his legs, feels a bit like he’s floating, disbelief that  _ this is actually happening, he’s really doing this _ making the world go slightly fuzzy at the edges. 

What brings him back to reality is a small hand suddenly slipping into his, tiny fingers gripping tight. Bruce startles only slightly before glancing down at Dick, who has shifted his bag so it rests against his side and under his arm, freeing up his left hand to hold Bruce’s. Oh.

Dick still isn’t really looking at him, instead focusing mostly on kicking a small rock across the asphalt, but Bruce catches his eyes dart quickly to look up at Bruce’s face, checking to make sure that this is okay. 

Bruce says nothing, just takes a deep breath and does his very best to keep from stiffening up or giving Dick any impression that this isn’t alright. It’s unexpected—although Bruce really should have predicted that frightened children just might seek out physical comfort—but it’s not unwelcome. This is what he signed up for, Bruce reminds himself, and he’s glad Dick is trusting him even this much.

He squeezes back, firm but gentle, Dick’s hand so, so small in his. God he’s really scared now—Dick is tiny, and traumatized, and Bruce has no knowledge to work from other than shared experience. And he knows that he wants to help Dick, is more sure of it than he’s ever been in his life, but tiny hands and button noses are new and scary and nothing he’s remotely prepared for.

“Are you alright, Mr. Wayne?” Dick’s small voice cuts through his thoughts. 

No. Not really. Not at all. 

“I’m fine, Dick.”

“Oh okay. Just making sure.”

Bruce squeezes his hand in appreciation before opening the door to his car and nodding towards the booster seat they’d bought specifically for Dick. 

“Alright, kiddo. Hop on in. I was thinking of stopping by the store on the way home and picking up some ice cream for tonight. You know, to celebrate. Do you have a favorite?”

Dick smiles at that, just slightly. Something loosens in Bruce’s chest.

“I like mint chocolate chip.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Please stay near me, Dick,” Bruce calls after him, anxiety flooding his veins at the thought of losing Dick in the crowds. “I don’t want to lose you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! sorry it's been a while! i meant to have this out ages ago, but i decided to switch a couple chapters around and then i got a killer case of writer's block. hopefully the next chapter won't take nearly as long :)

Bruce knows he should be spending more time with Dick. He knows, even without Alfred’s constant disappointed looks, he really does. He remembers being so lonely that it _ached,_ feeling isolated and alone even in crowded rooms. He knows how Dick is feeling now, and it can only be made worse by his new guardian’s regular absence. 

But he wants Zucco off the streets. He wants the Graysons—Dick—to get the justice they deserve. That’s his focus. Once Zucco is brought to justice, then he and Dick can start anew. Then he can be more present.

He’d thought it was a good idea, the most productive use of his time, until he realized that Dick kept a packed suitcase in his closet. At first Bruce had been confused, but upon thinking it over, he can only assume it is to avoid a repeat of having to stash all of his belongings in a trash bag when he has to leave. Dick still doesn’t realize that this is his home now, that it’s permanent and _he’s_ permanent. And that’s Bruce’s fault. 

He feels awful, guilty and worried, and all he wants is to see Dick right now, to somehow manage to reassure him that he doesn’t need this suitcase. He can stay here as long as he wants. 

“There is no immediate fix for this,” Alfred warns when Bruce comes to him, desperate and worried and oh so guilty. “You will have to make more of an effort to be present.”

“But Zucco—”

“That is what he needs,” Alfred stresses, “even more than he needs someone enacting vengeance on his behalf.”

“It’s justice, not vengeance,” Bruce mumbles, but he is still cowed by the stern arch in his own guardian’s eyebrow.

Dick is smart as a whip, and a very active child. He is creative, and enjoys reading and building with legos, but he does seem to prefer staying active above any other activity. Bruce catches him playing soccer alone against the back wall and walking on his hands in the gardens until he eventually flops down into the grass, narrowly missing Alfred’s rose bushes. Bruce figures he will probably need to order some real gymnastics equipment for the boy before any antique vases or carefully-sculpted topiary become casualties in Dick’s quest to maintain his circus roots. 

He loves to help people, and more than once Bruce has come home from work to find that Dick has aided Alfred in preparing dinner. And he doesn’t like to be alone very much, which Bruce cannot relate to. When he was young and mourning, all he wanted was to be left alone. Dick is the opposite. Apparently, he is more than willing to follow Alfred around the house as he does his work, either curled up with his latest book or lending a hand whenever he can. 

This big, empty house must be suffocating to a child so used to the hustle and bustle of a circus. 

Bruce is ashamed of how much of this information he had to learn from Alfred, as opposed to being here to observe it himself. He knows that he needs to do better, but he also finds himself really _wanting_ to as well. He wants to spend time with Dick, to actually get to know the boy he cares for.

“Hey, kiddo,” Bruce calls softly, rapping his knuckles on Dick’s door frame. The door itself had been left half open, but Bruce isn’t about to intrude into his space if he isn’t wanted. More than anything he wants Dick to feel comfortable here. 

Dick startles slightly. He’s laying on his stomach sprawled across the carpet, a book open in front of him and his stuffed elephant tucked under his chin.

“Bruce?” he asks, hastily dog earring his page and setting the book aside to give Bruce his full attention. “Is everything okay?”

Well, not _okay_ per se, but he doesn’t need to scare Dick by saying that. Dick is not the problem, that’s all Bruce. “Everything’s fine. I just wanted to speak with you.”

“Oh.” Dick shifts so he’s sitting up now, and then rises to sit on the bed when Bruce takes a seat in the armchair by the bookshelf. The book is abandoned on the floor while his elephant is set gently by the pillow. “Did I do something?”

“No, nothing like that. It’s not bad, Dick, I promise you.”

Dick relaxes just slightly. “Alright…” He’s looking at Bruce like he’s grown a second and a third head, bewildered that his guardian is here to spend time with him. Guilt sits cold and obtrusive in Bruce’s gut.

“I will be taking a long weekend off from work this week,” Bruce starts, deciding in the moment. He owes it to Dick. Dick deserves so much better. “And I was hoping we could spend some time together? I know I’ve been very busy lately, and I would like to apologize for that, and do my best to rectify it.”

Dick blinks at him, mouth parted in shock. His eyes are incredibly blue, framed by long, dark lashes. Now that Alfred has him eating properly, his cheeks are back to being rosy with lingering baby fat, as opposed to the sunken state of his features just after leaving the detention center. “You don’t have to do that,” he says hastily. “Really. I know your work is important. I’m good at entertaining myself, and Alfred is really nice.”

“I know, kiddo.” Bruce smiles, leaning forward slightly to rest his elbows on his knees. “But I would really like to spend more time with you. So, this weekend is all about you. What do you want to do?”

“Um.” Dick blinks again, beginning to look a bit like an owl. “We could watch a movie maybe? Your TV is really cool.”

Bruce nods. “I like movies. We can pick something out together and eat our weight in popcorn. What about sports? I see you’ve found my old soccer ball.”

“Uh, soccer is fun,” Dick says slowly. “I also like basketball. I used to play with the clowns and I’m about eighty percent sure they didn’t let me win.”

As bad of a connotation as clowns have in Bruce’s mind, he can’t help but grin at the mental image of Dick flipping over the heads of brightly-dressed circus folk to dunk a basketball while they trip over their comically large shoes. 

“I’m pretty sure we have a basketball somewhere. And I promise to definitely put up a challenge for you.”

Dick grins now, and there’s something of a spark in his eye. “Promise?”

“I promise. Anything else you want to do? We don’t have to stay home all weekend, unless that’s what you want. There are a few cool things to do around the city.” He doesn’t want Dick to associate Gotham solely with snapped wires and a dingy cell. For all her problems, Gotham is home, and she’ll be Dick’s home for a while yet.

Dick worries at his lip for a moment, glancing sideways at the little stuffed elephant. It’s fuzzy and gray, a few places held together by colorful patches. One button eye is looser than the other; Alfred should have no problems reattaching it though, should it fall off completely. Clearly the animal is extremely well-loved and has likely been helping Dick through his nightmares long before his parents' death. 

“Do you think…” Dick hesitates. Bruce smiles gently. “Does Gotham have a zoo?”

* * *

Gotham’s zoo could definitely use some refurbishment, but it isn’t nearly as bad as it could be given the general state of the rest of the city. It’s nicer at least than the detention center Dick was housed in, so that surely says something about the fucked up priorities here. 

The car ride here was the most excited Bruce has ever seen Dick. He’d been practically bouncing in his seat, occasionally kicking the back of Bruce’s seat, and he’s had a skip in his step ever since they parked the car. It’s been a good weekend, spent watching colorful animated movies and playing the most acrobatic game of basketball Bruce has ever seen, but in this moment Dick looks truly animated. Bruce didn’t know Dick before his parents’ murder, but he figures this must be closer to the lively child he used to be before all the anger and fear and grief. 

“Here we are,” Bruce says as they hand over their tickets and get little smudgy stamps on the backs of their hands, shaped like panda faces. “Gotham City Zoo.”

Looking up at the signs right inside the zoo’s entrance, Dick suddenly gasps. “They _do_ have elephants,” he breathes. In an instant he’s off like a racehorse, little legs speeding him in the promised direction of what Bruce can only assume is his favorite animal. 

“Please stay near me, Dick,” Bruce calls after him, anxiety flooding his veins at the thought of losing Dick in the crowds. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“Oh.” Dick slows, falling back into step beside him and looking up at Bruce with wide, searching eyes. Bruce doesn’t know what he’s looking for, or what he sees, but suddenly Dick is smiling up at him and his hand is sliding into Bruce’s. “There,” Dick says, swinging their arms slightly between them. “Now we’ll stay together the whole time.”

“Thank you, Dick.”

Dick smiles, and it’s the happiest Bruce has seen him yet. It’s only when he feels his own cheeks begin to ache that he realizes just how infectious Dick’s happiness is. He squeezes Dick’s hand tighter, and lets the boy drag him around the zoo, slowly coming out of his shell until he’s giving full-blown rambling speeches about each animal they pass and peppering Bruce with question after question.

It turns out to be just about the happiest day of Bruce’s life.


End file.
